Chapter One

Iain

I march across the campus of Nackington University, head held high, shoulders back, and ignore the taunts and jeers erupting around me. I expect this reaction whenever I dress like a true Scotsman in a heathen country. I’d never been to America until I flew in last week, in preparation for assuming my new job as a professor of archaeology and ancient history.

“Whoa, dude,” one young numpty shouts. He points at my clothing. “Do you wear lace panties too? They’d go with your plaid skirt.”

It’s a kilt, not a skirt. But I won’t waste my time explaining that to any of these morons. Not everyone disapproves of my attire, though. The lasses love it. I see groups of them gathering to watch me stroll by and to whisper to each other while they give me appreciative glances.

Another laddie points at me and laughs. “What a dweeb. Did you lose a bet and had to wear a skirt to class today?”

I reach down to pat the hilt of my sgian dubh which pokes out of my sock. “My knife is bigger than yours, laddie.”

Aye, I say the word knife as if I mean “dick.” The laddie understands, I think, since he rolls his eyes. I prefer the word slat, since that’s the Gaelic term.

My march through the asinine world of college laddies ends when I push through the double doors into the humanities building. The students milling about in the hall glance at me sideways but make no comment on my outfit. The lasses, naturally, cast me appreciative glances.

I find my classroom and walk up to the lectern that’s been set up at the front of the room. The space is not large, but then, archaeology courses aren’t normally the most popular ones. Still, I should have about thirty students this semester for my course on Celtic history. Aye, an American university offers a class like that. They created it this year just for me because I convinced the curriculum committee that the university should expand its offerings. They were keen on the idea. Very keen.

Turns out the grandparents of the committee chairman emigrated from Scotland.

And now I have emigrated too, though only for a while. I’ve been given a one-year contract with the option to extend it if everyone likes my work here.

I set my bag on the floor beside the lectern and get set up for today’s class. Someone walks into the room just as I’m finishing. I see the figure peripherally, and since I’m still organizing my papers on the lectern, I speak without glancing up. “Guten Morgen.”

“Uh, good morning?”

The female voice bears a note of uncertainty.

I lift my head and see a bonnie lass standing halfway across the room. She’s more than bonnie. The auburn beauty transfixes me with her voluptuous figure and her classical features. Since I’ve confused her, I say, “Guten Morgen is German for good morning.”

“Oh. Guten Morgen, then.” She moves closer, halting an arm’s length away. “You don’t sound German, though.”

“I’m Scottish.” I step sideways, away from the lectern, and offer her my hand. “Iain MacTaggart.”

She slips her hand into mine. “Rae Everhart.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Rae.” I step behind the lectern again. “I learned some German phrases while doing field work in the Saxony region.”

“Wow. That must be amazing. To work in another country, I mean. I’ve never been anywhere except America.”

“You’ll get to know Scotland in this class.” I wink. “It’s a very romantic country.”

Am I flirting with her? She’s a student, an undergraduate, which means she cannae be more than twenty-one or twenty-two. A thirty-seven-year-old man should not be making romantic advances toward a lass fifteen years his junior.

More students begin to file into the room.

“Choose a seat,” I tell Rae. “Class will start shortly.”

She sits down three rows back, directly in front of me. I don’t watch the other students as they choose their seats. No, I can’t stop staring at Rae. Her eyes are the most entrancing shade of dark blue I’ve ever seen. Her lips have just enough fullness to make them enticing too, and I know I could kiss those lips for hours. But I won’t do that. Getting sacked for sexual misconduct on my first day at Nackington would ruin my career.

I can be mates with a student, though. Can’t I?

Once everyone has taken a seat, I set my hands on the edges of the lectern and begin. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Iain MacTaggart, your teacher for the semester. Welcome to Celtic History 401, the Story of Scotland from the Paleolithic Era to the Union of Crowns.” I raise a hand just as a lad raises his hand to ask a question. “Donnae worry. In due course, I will explain the meanings of those terms and many more. By the end of this semester, you’ll be experts on all these subjects.”

“Cool,” a blonde lass declares. “I love your accent, by the way.”

“Thank you.” My gaze gravitates to Rae. The second our eyes meet, she smiles. “Let’s dive into the first lesson.”

Her lips tighten more, carving out dimples in her cheeks.

Bod an Donais, the lass is lovely. Kissing her would be…cause for my dismissal. Aye, I should curse myself in Gaelic because only an erse would think about kissing a student.

I clear my throat and focus on the class. The girls all watch me with rapt attention while the boys thumb through their textbooks or scribble in their notebooks, though I suspect they’re not taking notes. Aye, getting and keeping the attention of college students is always a challenge. Before I can begin my lecture, I ask for the names of all the students and write them down on the diagram of the classroom that I made last night. I also inform them they should always sit in the same seat because that will make it easier for me to remember their names. And aye, one sarcastic young man asks if I have senile dementia and that’s why I need a chart to remember the students’ names. I shake my head and do not respond.

Stepping out from behind the lectern, I gesture at my clothing. “I’m sure you’re all wondering about the way I’m dressed.”

“Yeah, what’s up with the skirt?” a cheeky sod asks.

I feign disappointment. “Apparently, none of the lads in America know any other way to insult a Scot. You all say the same thing. I expected better from seniors who will graduate in the spring and go on to exciting careers in the fast food industry.”

The laddie clamps his jaw shut and puckers his lips, staring down at his notebook.

I take hold of my kilt and lift it just enough to reveal my knees, though I didn’t do it for that purpose. I meant to draw their attention to the garment. “This is a kilt. Not a skirt. The kilt I’m wearing features the MacTaggart clan tartan. Every clan distinguishes itself with a unique plaid design.” I pull my knife out of my sock and raise it for the class to see. “This is a sgian dubh, a type of dagger used as a weapon by Scots in the old days. Today, it’s strictly for ornamental use. The word sgian dubh means ‘black knife.’ No one knows why, but that’s what we call these blades.”

Rae raises her hand.

I nod to her. “What’s your question?”

“Do you have a big sword too?”

When a few laddies make suggestive noises, Rae bows her head.

I glare at each snickering cacan in turn—and they all haud their wheesht. Wee shits always crumble under pressure. Now that I’ve silenced them, I focus on Rae. “Aye, I do have a sword back home in Scotland. My cousin Lachlan gave it to me for my birthday last year.” I squint at the laddies who had ridiculed Rae and speak in a menacingly soft voice. “My sword is called a claymore, and with that blade, I could take the head off anyone who causes trouble.”

I wave my sgian dubh in a threatening gesture.

The laddies pick up their pens and pencils as if they now mean to pay attention to the lesson without harassing anyone. Maybe I enjoyed terrifying them a bit too much, but I cannae stand for any man harassing a woman.

Rae tentatively raises her hand again.

“Go on,” I say. “What did you want to ask?”

“Um…” She bites her upper lip. “I was wondering about your shirt. It’s cool, but it doesn’t look old-timey.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t have a traditional shirt, so I improvised.” I wink at her. “If I can find a Jacobite kilt shirt, I’ll wear it to class one day.”

She smiles shyly, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

“All right,” I say, stepping behind the lectern again. “It’s time to dig into our first lesson for this week—the Paleolithic Era. Does anyone know what that term means?”

A laddie, identified on my chart as Andy, thrusts his hand up.

“Tell me your definition, Andy.”

“It’s a pail of lithic. You know, like a bucket full of, uh…lithic stuff.”

“Afraid not. Anyone else care to try?”

No one moves. Most of them stare at me blankly.

Then Rae lifts her hand. When I nod, she says, “Paleolithic means ‘old stone.’ So the Paleolithic Era is the Old Stone Age, meaning that the people then used only stone tools. The Mesolithic and Neolithic came after that but before the invention of metalworking.”

“Excellent, Rae. That’s a perfect definition.”

She sits up straighter, and her lips curl into a lovely little smile.

While I continue my lecture, the other students get more involved as they become more comfortable with me. I might be Scottish, and I might be wearing a kilt and a sgian dubh, but I am not a frightening man. I discuss the Paleolithic in Scotland, and my students actually take notes and ask questions. This is a good start. I had worried that the students might not accept me readily, but those fears have evaporated.

Especially when I look at Rae.

Christ, I should not be thinking about her this much. She’s a student and far too young for me.

Rae stays behind after the other students have left the room. She approaches me as I’m putting all my notes and pictures into my attaché case. “Dr. MacTaggart?”

“Please call me Iain.”

She hunches her shoulders and smiles shyly again, which makes me want to kiss her right now. “Okay, Iain.”

“Did ye have a question, lass?”

Rae nods. “I wondered if today was the only time you’ll talk about the Paleolithic. I’m really interested in that era.”

“Aye, this was the only in-class lecture on that topic. But I’d be happy to discuss it with you outside of class.”

“You mean like a tutoring type thing?”

No, because I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The words poured out of me before I’d bothered to consider them. What’s the harm in tutoring a student outside of class? Rae wants to know more about the Paleolithic, that’s all. I won’t get so randy that I’ll seduce her. I might find her attractive, but I have self-control.

“Aye,” I say. “A tutoring thing.”

She grins. “That would be fantastic. Thank you, Iain.”

“My pleasure, Rae. We could start at four o’clock today, if you’re free.”

“Yeah, I’m free.”

“Let’s meet at the campus museum. I can tutor you while we look at actual relics from that era.”

Her grins gets even bigger. “I love museums.”

A student who loves museums? I’ve never met anyone like her before. None of my pupils back in Scotland would’ve begged for extra work outside of class. But Rae honestly wants to learn more about my country’s ancient past—and I honestly want to teach her about that.

We walk out of the classroom together, then go our separate ways. At four o’clock this afternoon, I will meet Rae for what might turn out to be the first of many tutoring sessions. She seems very keen on learning as much as possible. I don’t even know what type of degree she’s working to achieve, but I can tell she will excel at anything she tries.

For the rest of the day, until four p.m. arrives, I keep glancing at every clock I see. And I keep thinking about Rae Everhart.

Chapter Two

Rae

Iain MacTaggart is the hottest man on earth. Okay, maybe that’s hyperbole, but I don’t care. I love his pale blue eyes, his light brown hair, and that hook nose. He has the kind of rugged sex appeal that I never knew I’d love—but I do. I’d never met anyone like Iain until today. He’s a real man, the kind every woman secretly dreams about but thinks she’ll never find.

Oh God. I’ve turned into one of those girls I used to make fun of, the ones who drool over every guy they see.

Though I love my classes, my mind keeps wandering back to Dr. Iain MacTaggart. He’s an amazing teacher, and I’m not just saying that because I have a crush on him. He makes ancient history exciting and entertaining, especially when he smiles with devilish humor right before he makes a joke. Yeah, Iain is electrifying.

My last class of the day ends at four o’clock, so I rush over to the museum and burst through the main doors before I realize I shouldn’t be sprinting into the lobby. I probably shouldn’t have sprinted all the way from the math building, either. Now I’m breathing hard and my cheeks feel warm, a sure sign of overexertion. So I guzzle water from the fountain in the lobby, splashing a little on my face to cool me down. Jeez, Iain will think I’m insane or asthmatic or something.

Once I feel capable of speech again, I shuffle backward, away from the fountain.

And bump into someone.

I whirl around—and my heart thuds. “Oh, Iain. God, I’m so sorry I crashed into you.”

“No worries.” He smiles and winks. “My kilt protected me.”

I glance at his kilt with a touch of skepticism. “Plaid has some kind of magic powers to save you from falling down and cracking your skull?”

“Aye. I’ve cast a sain on my kilt, and my sgian dubh is also my luirgean.”

I stare at him, blinking slowly. “Are you speaking another language?”

“Scots Gaelic. I said I’ve cast a charm on my kilt, and my knife is also my magic staff.”

For some stupid reason, I glance down at his groin.

Iain hooks a finger under my chin and lifts until our gazes meet. “My magic staff is my knife, remember?”

He spoke those words in a sensual tone. Or maybe I imagined it was sexy because I’m so insanely attracted to him. Did he realize I was staring at his other ‘magic staff’? Not that I can see it. Well, I did notice a slight bulge down there.

Snap out of it, girl.

Iain turns to the side and waves for me to go with him. “Let’s start our tour of the Nackington Museum of History with the Paleolithic exhibits.”

He leads the way until we enter the Hall of Prehistory, then he slows down just enough that we can walk side by side. People give us funny looks, but I think they’re baffled by his clothing, not horrified that an undergraduate is hanging out with a professor. He doesn’t look thirty-seven. But I have no idea what someone of that age is supposed to look like. Maybe everybody in their late thirties has the same youthfulness and virility as Iain.

I assumed tutoring would involve Iain talking and me listening. But no, we have conversations. He shares what he knows about each exhibit, then invites me to ask questions which in turn becomes a back and forth that’s way more fun than sitting in class listening to a lecture. I love his voice. The man could recite the instructions for performing an appendectomy, and I’d still swoon.

Not that I have swooned. Maybe a little on the inside.

Once our tour has ended, Iain suggests we go to the museum’s café to “have a piece.” Turns out that means to have a snack, preferably a sandwich. But when we get to the café, I want something sweet, and Iain goes along with that. We sit on either side of a round table and talk some more while we enjoy our cinnamon rolls. He tells me about Scotland and makes me laugh so hard that I accidentally spit out a glob of half-chewed pastry. It gets stuck on my chin.

Iain reaches over the table to wipe my chin off with a napkin.

None of the other guys I’ve known would do that. Iain is a gentleman on top of being hot and funny and surprisingly sweet. I’ve only slept with two boys in my life so far, and neither of them could hold a candle to the hot Scot. I’d love for him to kiss me, but he hasn’t even tried to do that. Well, we are in a public place. I shouldn’t want him to kiss me, but I can’t help it. My body craves things I’d never even thought about until today. Naughty, dirty things.

Oh yeah, tonight I’ll need to break out my vibrator and get off while fantasizing about Iain MacTaggart.

He insists on driving me to my apartment off-campus, since my old car died and I haven’t bought a newer used vehicle yet, which means I’ve been taking the bus. But he says goodbye on the sidewalk just outside my building without touching me in any way, not even to shake my hand. I make my way up to the second floor of the complex and into the apartment I share with my roommate, Cecilia Bremner-Ashton aka Cece. I’ve only known her for a week, and I can’t tell yet what kind of roomie she’ll be. The girl seems kind of uptight and snobby. She’s from a rich family, and her father is the university’s largest donor. I learned that from Cece herself. She loves to brag about her family’s wealth and status. I’ve heard rumors that the Bremner-Ashtons are powerful and almost like a Midwest mafia, but I’ve always dismissed that as gossip.

I do know, because Cece told me, that her parents insisted she should live on her own while attending Nackington University, rather than in their mansion. Maybe she annoys her family too.

I’ve just dropped my backpack on the living room table when Cece ambles out of her bedroom wearing her favorite silk teddy.

She yawns and stretches. “Where have you been? Thought your last class ended at four.”

“I went to the campus museum.”

Cece’s lip curls. “Why would anybody do that? It’s so…nerdy.”

“That’s me. I’m a nerd.” I kick my shoes off and flop onto the sofa, resting my feet on the coffee table. “Did you eat yet? We could order pizza.”

“Eat? It’s only six thirty.”

“Yeah, and I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nobody worth knowing eats dinner before eight o’clock.”

I grew up in a completely different way than Cece did. My family ate breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at six every day. I’m sure my snooty roommate thinks that schedule is hopelessly bourgeois. I mean, my family didn’t even have a butler, much less a chef or a team of maids. Whether Cece’s family is happy, I don’t know. Mine isn’t. Maybe my parents haven’t been the happiest people, but I always believed they loved me and each other. Until this past summer. That’s when I found out my parents had been separated for six months and had just filed for divorce. Mom didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I pushed until she confessed that Dad had been cheating on her for years. She finally couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t blame her. Dad hooked up with a slut two years older than I am, and now they’re living together.

I know Mom loves me. But Dad… I don’t want to think about him anymore, not today. I had a wonderful day at school and especially with Iain. So I’m going to focus on that and forget the bad stuff.

Grabbing the cordless phone off the end table, I start to dial a number. “I’m ordering pizza. Do you want some or not?”

Cece wrinkles her nose. “No thank you. I’m having dinner with a boy. At a restaurant. Five star.”

Does Nackington, Wisconsin, have a five-star restaurant? I kind of doubt that. It’s a small town, not a metropolis. If she wants to lie about where she’s going and with whom, the girl can go for it. I don’t care what she does. So I order a large ham pizza with extra cheese. Yeah, I’m going to eat the whole thing myself. I add a small dessert pizza to my order too. Pigging out sounds awesome right now. The time I spent with Iain today left me feeling invigorated and ravenous. Since I can’t get it on with my professor, I’ll stuff my face instead.

Cece and I lounge on the sofa to watch her favorite reality shows while I eat my meal. I can’t stand these shows, but I’m trying to be a good roommate. If we’re going to share an apartment for ten months, I need to learn the fine art of compromise.

My roomie doesn’t seem to care about that.

During a commercial break, Cece turns toward me. Her smile seems kind of sneaky. “Soooo, I was looking out the window earlier, and I saw you and your new boy toy.”

“Boy toy? I’ve never had one of those.”

She leans toward me, seeming almost excited, and whispers, “The guy in plaid. Who is he?”

“One of my professors. He teaches Celtic history.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Who wants to learn about that? Only dweebs like you.”

“Uh-huh.” Let her say what she wants. I don’t care.

Cece seems even more excited now, like a dog that just found a juicy bone. “Are you screwing him? I mean, he’s jalapeño hot. If you aren’t going to tap that, maybe I will.”

She is so not Iain’s type. Right, like I know what kind of girls he prefers. But I just can’t picture him screwing an uptight snob like Cece.

I roll my eyes to indicate the clock on the wall. “Shouldn’t you get ready for your big five-star date?”

“Yep.” She leaps off the sofa and trots toward the hallway. “Don’t be jealous. I’m sure some pimply geek will snatch you up any day now.”

Does she hate me? Or is she like this with everyone? I’ve never done anything to her, but I’m getting sick of her snide comments and nosiness.

Once my roomie leaves, I shut off the TV and go into my bedroom. I take care of my homework, then change into my nightie, intending to go to sleep. But I toss and turn, my mind racing with thoughts of Iain. When he had leaned in and said, in that rough and sexy voice, that his “magic staff” is his knife, I’d wanted to jump him right then. I swear I’m not that kind of girl. But Iain makes me feel so many things I’ve never experienced before. Maybe the reason I’ve only slept with two guys, and each time it was only once, is because I hadn’t met a man like Iain MacTaggart.

I know I’ll never get any sleep unless I can do something about the wet ache between my thighs. So I yank the nightstand drawer open and pull out my vibrator.

Shimmying under the sheets, I lift my nightie’s hem up to my hips and spread my legs. Then I slide the vibrator between my folds and switch it on, using the lowest setting. I stroke it up and down my cleft while I grow slicker and my breaths quicken. I imagine Iain kneeling between my thighs, naked and aroused, whispering filthy things to me, and I can’t stop myself from cranking the vibrator up a few notches.

Iain. Naked. Thrusting into me.

My back arches, and I thrust the vibrator into me, pushing it deep and hard while I fist my free hand in the sheets and start panting. But I need that finger, so I release the sheets and rub my clit furiously, fucking myself with the vibrator so hard that I hear a wet sucking sound every time I pull it out and plunge it back inside me. I can’t breathe, can’t stop, can’t slow down, need to come so badly. The bed starts to creak, my body curls in on itself, and I’m teetering on the edge of an invisible cliff, about to tumble off it and free-fall into bliss. The climax hits me so hard that the breath I’d been holding explodes out of me, and strangled cries spill from my lips while wave after wave pulsates inside me. I pull out the vibrator and push my fingers inside to feel the contractions, which makes me come harder.

I lie here limp and tangled up in the sheets for I don’t know how long. My chest heaves. My ears ring. Sweat drizzles down my temples. The vibrator still lies nestled between my thighs. Once I’ve caught my breath, I flip the sheets off me. Grabbing the vibrator, I go into the bathroom to wash it off and pee. I hadn’t really needed to go until I started masturbating, then the urge to pee grew stronger in time with my escalating need to come. Once I’ve relieved myself, I crawl back into bed.

And fall asleep in seconds.

Yeah, Iain MacTaggart gives me fantastic orgasms—and he’s not even in the room with me.